Homeostasis
by the writer formerlyknown as lm
Summary: Kyle wasn't gay. Not even a little bit. And he managed to keep that little fact a secret for three years.
1. Kyle Reflects On His Very Nature

So, I've got a lot of this written out, and it's mostly just sketches (some chapters are only a couple hundred words), but it'll be 20 or so chapters long. Expect frequent updates.

It's funny – I'm not big on slash, and I hate fics that don't capture the zaniness of the show, so of course that's what this is. It's mostly angst, but it's Kyle, so it makes sense, right?

**HOMEOSTASIS**

Kyle wasn't really gay.

He was pretty sure.

The summer after 8th grade, his mother had forced him to go to Jew Camp, despite her promise that if he were to graduate valedictorian of his 8th grade class, she would leave him be for the whole summer. She had technically kept her word, but had guilt-tripped him, had told him how lonely and scared Ike would be all alone, so far away, and so he had said "Goddamn it!" and resolutely packed his things.

He had told Stan that Jew Camp always sucked balls, that he would write him daily because otherwise he might shoot his fucking head off or do something drastic. Stan had been the awesome best friend he always was and had offered words of consolation and promised to make sure that someone told Cartman off in his absence.

And Jew Camp _was_ awful.

Except for David.

David was the camp counselor. He was seventeen, and he wasn't a complete idiot. Kyle was shocked. David loved philosophy and art and he hated dumbasses as much as Kyle did. He made funny jokes, and he got Kyle's jokes, and Kyle mentioned in one letter that he reminded him of Stan. When Stan wrote back, he had been almost jealous … which Kyle thought so stupid, at the time.

Kyle found himself pestering David in the counselors' cabin. He knew, logically, that he was being an idiot, but it was just such a _relief _to find someone who could see through the bullshit, who sometimes doubted his faith just like Kyle did, and that day David had told him that he was very mature for his age, Kyle had puffed up and walked on clouds. Later that night, when he was in his bunk and David's kind words were still ringing in his ears, Kyle thought of David's dark hair and his nice smile, and, for the first time in his life, Kyle whacked off to someone real. The disheartening realization that it was a boy was both weird and … _gross_. Super mega weird and super mega gross.

Kyle spent the rest of the summer trying to figure out if he was attracted to David. He didn't get tongue-tied around him, or blush, but, then again, Kyle reminded himself, he had never been that way around girls, either. He tried to figure out if he found David good-looking, but he couldn't really tell. David was pretty average, although he did have that goddamn smile. Kyle wondered if noticing another guy's smile made you automatically gay. It certainly felt gay.

But Kyle was nothing if not rational, and he concluded that it could've been misplaced sexual frustration, or just a phase, or even a one-off asexual-type sexual thing. Kyle was mostly convinced that's what it was, until that last damn day at camp, when he had pried Ike away from his friends so they could board the bus home. He had gone to find David to say goodbye. Patricia, the other counselor, had told him that David had gone swimming, and Kyle went to the lake. David was coming out of the water, pulling himself up on the ladder, and Kyle could only think of one thing:

_Wow, he's got a nice back._

It was very, very gay, but Kyle thought that watching the water dripping down David's back was the single most erotic thing he had ever seen.

"Kyle, you're breaking my arm!" Ike cried, but Kyle couldn't loosen his grip because his brain was mush and his legs were jelly and he was a faggot and when Cartman found out he would just _laugh himself to death._

When Kyle got home, he didn't mention it to Stan. He didn't know why. Stan would've been very supportive and understanding. Stan would've offered advice, would've been totally judgeless. He was Kyle's Super Best Friend, always had been, in fact, and maybe that's why he didn't tell him. Because Stan wouldn't automatically assume that Kyle had a thing for him – or at least, Kyle hoped he wouldn't – but things would _change_. Things would get complicated. And for all their closeness, they didn't talk about their feelings much. They weren't sharing-feelings-and-secrets kind of friends. When they were together, it was always just about each other and no one else, and Kyle didn't want to mess up their homeostasis.

Besides, Kyle still wasn't _really _gay. And so there was no reason to raise the alarm.

Sure, he enjoyed gay porn, and he found that what he really loved was when beefy men dominated twinks, and he especially loved it when _backs _were to the camera because men just had _such_ nice back muscles. But he didn't have feelings for anyone real. He never had a crush on any guy he went to school with, he never thought about real men in any way. And he actually enjoyed flirting with girls, and he even went on a few dates.

Kyle wasn't gay. Not even a little bit.

And he managed to keep that little fact a secret for three years.


	2. Not Knocking Pays Off

Kyle was a very methodical person.

He kept lists. He liked to plan things out.

That probably explained why his grades were dropping.

He couldn't start on any project – be it homework, or a paper – until the minute hand was at a multiple of 5. For example, when Kyle sat down at his desk to start work on his English essay, the time was 8:13. He had two minutes to spare until he could start. If his mother called him for something, he would have to wait until 8:20.

Stan was the only one he'd told about this quirk, and he'd just laughed. Stan had always been much more easy-going, and Kyle really admired him for that.

Kyle couldn't watch porn unless it was a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or Saturday. He didn't know whether that was natural compulsion or compulsion spawning from convenience. Most Fridays were Stan days, and so they weren't fit for porn. Sundays were homework days, and Mondays were catching-up-on-the-weekends days. It certainly all made sense to Kyle, even though it probably didn't make sense to anyone else.

The time was now 8:14. Kyle had one minute until he could open up the word document. It was a Tuesday. Could he watch porn in a minute? Kyle didn't think so. Sure, he enjoyed sketching his plans out, but that certainly didn't mean that he planned his orgasms down to the second.

The clock turned 8:15. In a fit of reckless abandon, Kyle decided to watch porn anyway. It had been several days since he'd gotten off, and he was feeling a bit jumpy. He had a few websites that were his favorite, and he alternated between them on the alternating days.

Tuesday was _Leather Baddies. _

He decided that he would watch porn until 8:29, which left a one minute hand-washing window, and then he would begin on his paper.

Kyle plugged in his headphones, went to the third page and clicked on the fifth video, (that was the one he always had to pick,) and pushed play. Kyle's door didn't have a lock, but he could usually hear his mother coming from a mile away, his father never visited, and Ike was too scarred from walking in on him in the shower once to ever come near his room. Stan would always send Kyle a message before coming over because he knew how much it irked him when he just dropped by.

Still, Kyle liked to play it safe. He pushed pause, just as he felt himself begin to heat up. He hastily threw his bean bag in front of his door and then ran back over to his computer.

He clicked the play button and felt the tingle spread all over his body. Fuck, this video was a good one. The little one was on the floor, writhing, while the big man gave it to him again and again and again. "Oh, fuck me harder! Please fuck me harder!" the little one shouted out, contrasting his plea with teary eyes.

"Ufff." Kyle bit at his lip. It was literally a hundred degrees hotter in his room; it had to be.

Kyle closed his eyes and all he could hear was the groaning on his headphones, and all could feel was the rhythm of his hand, and all these images assaulted him, one-by-one, mostly actors, or imagined versions of characters from books. No one real; it never was. If Kyle got off to Stan one day, he didn't know what he would do. He'd never be able to look at him again. He'd feel guilty, like he defiled their friendship or something. He was tempted to get off on Cartman, just so the fatass would have a heart attack, but God, actually, that was really disgusting and Kyle couldn't believe he'd even thought that as a joke. But, oh no, now the fatass wouldn't get out of there. Why wouldn't he get out of there? Good god, is he _naked_?

"Dude, weak!" Kyle shouted. He opened his eyes and glared at the computer screen. The guys were still going at it, and he was still somewhat hard, but it wasn't so hot in his room anymore. There was actually kind of a breeze.

He turned to his window. He didn't know why he was so surprised, but Kenny of all people was straddling his sill. Of course. Kenny always came in through the window, although Kyle could probably count on one hand the number of times Kenny had visited him.

Kenny was staring right at him, so it was clear that he could see what he was doing. Kyle stared right back, and, for a moment, he thought that he might not ever be able to move again.

But what felt like eternity was only a split-second, and Kyle quickly flew into panic mode.

"Jesus Christ!" Kyle zipped up his jeans, careful not to hurt anything in the process, and he ripped off his headphones, and then he turned off his monitor. He knew how he looked, all panting and flushed as he breathed out, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Kenny seemed amused. He pulled his other leg in and landed on Kyle's floor. "I want to pay you to do my math homework." He waved the Algebra textbook he was holding.

_Of all the times for Kenny to care about his grades ...  
><em>

Kyle wanted to scream. He wanted to ask Kenny what the fuck rights did he think he had, invading his privacy? He wanted to tell him to shut the goddamn window, and, while he was at it, throw himself out. He wanted to tell him all kinds of things. Instead, he said, "Why the fuck do you think I'd do your math homework?" which wasn't quite as biting.

"I dunno," Kenny said, entering the room, plopping down on the bed. "Because I've got twenty bucks and I'm prepared to grovel?"

Kenny was acting awfully blasé. Kyle wondered if it was naïve to hope he'd get off so lucky, to hope Kenny would have enough tact not to bring it up.

"You should know I'm a harder sell than that," he managed to say. He swiveled around in his computer chair and crossed his arms.

"Or we could just talk about the," Kenny covered his mouth with a grubby, frayed glove, "_ahem_, compromising position I caught you in just there."

Kyle was irate. Was this really what friends stooped to? One of your supposed best fucking friends in the world? _Extortion_?

"Or I could find out where you got that twenty bucks and blackmail_ you_, dickhole!"

Kenny gave a shit-eating grin. "If you're so curious, I'll tell you. But seriously, dude, it's no biggie. What were you watching, anyway? Turn it back on; I wanna see."

"Wha- What? Dude, I'm not going to _let you see it_!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, man. I'd let you come over and watch some of mine if you want."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Kenny…"

"It was gay porn, though, right? Like, two guys going at it? That's what gets you off?"

Hearing it put that way made Kyle acutely aware of how true it was, and just how that sounded. "Look, dude, it's not … I mean …"

"Dude, I'm not calling you gay." Kenny put up his hands in a pacifistic gesture. Kyle felt his heart skip a beat.

"You're not?"

"No, dude. Porn's all about fantasy; it's not reality. Now turn it back on and let me see your kinks."

Kyle could hardly believe it was true, that someone was echoing the very sentiments he had been telling himself for years.

"You won't tell anyone, then? Because I'm, like, not gay."

Kenny gave him a long look. "Like … _anyone_, anyone?"

Kyle understood what he meant. "No. Stan doesn't know about my ... "kinks," as it were."

Kenny's grin grew two-fold. "I know something Stan doesn't?"

"Stan knocks."

"All those years of not-knocking finally paid off! Now lemme see."

Kyle thought Kenny had been joking, but he seemed to be serious about wanting to see the video. He swiveled back around and Kenny came over, floating his head next to Kyle's as he brought the scene back to life.

Watching it from non-horny eyes was embarrassing. There was cheesy music in the background and neither of the men were particularly good looking. One of the close-up shots of the actual action was kind of disgusting.

"Nice," Kenny said appreciatively.

"Do you …?" Kyle started. "Do you watch stuff like this?"

If anyone would, it had to be him. He was one of the sexiest bastards Kyle had ever met. If any straight guy would watch gay porn, it would be Kenny.

"Not really," he answered off-handedly. "My fantasy's pretty boring. I like bleach-blonde chicks with massively fake tits. Lately I've been really into lesbians, though." Kenny straightened up. "Are you gonna do my math homework or not? You still stiff?"

"Dude!" Kyle felt his face go red. "You're, like, right here in the room with me!"

"So?"

"Oh, God …" Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just leave the book and the money on the bed, all right?"

"Woohoo!" Kenny exclaimed. "Thanks, man."

"You're welcome," Kyle said, but Kenny was already back out the window.


	3. Kyle Is Probably Reading into Things

Kyle was high.

Kyle knew that most people who smoked pot were douchebags, and he still believed that, even when he found himself smoking it nearly every day. He didn't get goofy when he was high, he didn't laugh at stupid stuff, and he always rolled his eyes at people who acted like complete retards after a toke.

But when he smoked pot, he felt warm, relaxed and like his limbs weighed a hundred pounds each, in a pleasant sort of way. It was just … _nice_.

"_Ahhhhh_ …" he sighed, blowing the smoke out the car window.

"Yeah, don't get that stuff over here, man," Stan said. "You know how I get."

Stan really was a wonderful friend. He hated smoke, was borderline asthmatic, but he always let Kyle smoke in his car, let Kyle _keep his fucking stash in his goddamn car_, all because he was amazing.

"I love you so fucking much, Stan," Kyle said.

Stan chuckled. "Dude, you're so fucking queer when you're high."

"Yeah, a little," Kyle admitted. "Thanks for everything, though, really."

"Dude, it's cool. I know how your mom is."

"Yeah, but still, dude. You don't have to be so, so cool, all the fucking time. You're like fucking Superman."

"Superman, huh?" Stan grinned. "That's pretty cool. But I think Batman's more badass."

"You're not angsty enough to be Batman, dude."

"Not queer enough, either. I don't want a Robin." Stan gave him that look again, that look that Kyle recognized even when he was high. Like Stan wanted to talk to him. Like he was going to ask him something. But he never would. Too much of a pussy.

"You're too much of a pussy, man." Kyle found himself swaying to the song on the radio.

"What do you mean?" Stan asked, but Kyle cut him off.

"Dude, you're supposed to turn here."

"Fuck! Well I can't get over. Do you think I can circle around?"

"I don't know, man. Maybe if you weren't too much of a pussy to do a U-Turn."

"They're fucking dangerous, dude. And my car's too big."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Seriously, dude. Ridiculously queer when you're high." Stan looked at him again.

Maybe Kyle was imagining it. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe Stan didn't think anything of it at all. Stan didn't think about that sort of stuff, or at least, it didn't seem so to Kyle. Stan was always kind of simple, in a totally cool, non-shallow way. He loved his family, and he loved his friends, and he enjoyed school sports but found studies to be the bane of his existence. He dated a lot of people, but aside from Bebe had never dated anyone seriously.

Kyle had to be imagining it. It wasn't that Stan wasn't astute enough to draw conclusions about someone's personal life; it was that he wasn't so presumptuous.

Kyle was trying to think of something to say, but he couldn't form the words. He decided to play with the glove box in front of him. He very slowly opened it, and very slowly closed it.

"Okay, dude," Stan went on, "I think I can pull into their driveway and pull out. Should turn off my lights, don't wanna blind them through the fucking windows."

Kyle could only presume that Stan did turn around because the car was going a different way, but he couldn't take his eyes off of his hands. Opening. Closing.

"Okay, sweet, dude, Burger Shack awaits us! Double cheeseburger with bacon and goat cheese. Fuck yeah!"

"Cool," Kyle said.

"Don't you get hungry when you're high? Munchies or some shit like that?" Stan asked.

"Dude, don't be so cliché."

"I guess you're right. I mean, _you're_ the one who would know about that life." Stan put a really weird emphasis on the 'you're.'

Kyle wondered what on earth Stan could possibly mean by that, wondered if Stan meant at all what he thought he meant. Could he be reading into things? He _was _high, after all, and he was feeling a little bit guilty.

The thought of Kenny knowing something that Stan didn't really bothered Kyle. _But Kenny doesn't know anything_, Kyle assured himself. _There's nothing _to _know. There's nothing to it. I'm just a kinky bastard; I'm not a fucking homo. Jesus, Kyle, get a hold of yourself._

"Jesus, Kyle, get a hold of yourself," he said aloud.

"That sounds like the end to a semi-interesting internal monologue," Stan said. Kyle turned to him. Stan had parked the car, and he was turning off the ignition.

"Dude," Kyle said, feeling oddly floaty, "we're here?"

"Yeah, man. We're here." Stan gave him a pitiful look and shook his head. "You're fucking baked."

"So?"

Stan gave an odd half-smile. "Let's go get burgers, okay?"


	4. Cartman Makes a Brief Appearance

"Hey, Jewfag, I have to work with you on the English assignment."

Kyle hated when Cartman used Jew as an insult, but after the Kenny incident on Tuesday, and the Stan incident on Friday, he simply _couldn't handle_ being called a fag.

And so he picked up his backpack and swung it full-force, right for Cartman's smarmy fat face. Cartman's eyes widened, and then he squeezed them shut and cringed.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Stan.

It was always Stan.

He had stepped in front of Cartman and stopped the bag before it had even hit the stupid fatass.

"I can't do it, Stan!" Kyle said, and he was aware that several people in the hall were staring at him, but he didn't care. "I can't work with him! It's not _my fucking fault_ that no one had their fucking essays ready, and I'm certainly not going to stand aside and let this fatass call me stupid names any fucking more!"

"Dude, first of all, I don't blame you for wigging out on Cartman; the douche deserves it –"

"Hey!"

"But dude, if you pound his ass on school property you'll get expelled or some shit, okay? So, please, can you just calm down? Go for a walk or something?"

"Yeah," Cartman just had to intervene, "listen to your boyfriend, Kahl –"

"I'll show you who's my boyfriend, you sorry motherfucker!"

All in all, it was not one of Kyle's better comebacks, but he did manage to grab Cartman by his hair and slam his face into a locker.

"Dude!" Stan yelled, as he grabbed Kyle and pulled him back. Clyde and Token had Cartman's arms, but he didn't even move to retaliate. He just stood there, blood pouring down his face, and stared at Kyle with a glint in his eye that Kyle knew didn't bode well for him.


	5. Kyle's Mom Is a Stupid

"I'm very disappointed in you, Kyle."

Kyle didn't know what to do when his mother was like this. Shouting, he could handle. But this … this cold, unfeeling tone was downright eerie.

"Expelled. My very own son. And for _bullying_."

"I didn't bully anyone, Mom."

"Oh, _really_?" His mother put on disbelief. "Because your principal happened to be singing a different tune."

"The principal's retarded."

"You watch your mouth, young man!" His mother balled her fists. Kyle could see the tips of her ears were red. She was mad. Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad, mad. But still not yelling. "You called that boy 'fat' and then you broke his nose."

"Mom, it wasn't like that –"

"It wasn't? You mean you didn't call the boy fat?"

"Well yeah –"

"And _you_ didn't break his nose? Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was Stan, or that colored boy?"

"No, I broke his nose."

"So, then, what am I missing?"

"What you're missing is that it was Cartman!" Kyle was getting mad, too, and he found himself off of the couch and on his feet. "You know how much of a little shit Cartman is!"

"I know that Eric Cartman causes a great deal of trouble," his mother said. "But I also know that you do, too. I don't know what to do about you, Kyle. I always thought you'd be my little baby, but the older you get, the more wild you become."

"Wild? _Wild?_" Kyle laughed. "I'm the top of my class; I never miss school; I always go to synagogue; I pick Ike up when Dad stays late at the office and you're busy with your latest campaign. Yeah, you're right, Mom; I'm a fucking problem child. God!"

"Go to your room, Kyle! I've had it up to here with your insolence!"

"Fine! I will!"

And Sheila Broflovski watched her son stalk up the stairs to his room and stop halfway through. He turned to her.

"None of this ever would have happened if you didn't send me to Jew Camp when I was 13!"

He stomped the rest of the way to his room and slammed the door behind him.

_What on earth is he talking about?_ she wondered.


	6. Kyle Gets the Clap

Kyle wasn't gay.

And he had never planned on telling anyone.

But Stan had been giving him meaningful looks, and Cartman always seemed to have something up his sleeve, and Kenny had walked in on him jerking off to a video of men engaged in sexual activities, which, frankly, didn't lend much credence to his insistence that he was straight.

But damn it all to hell, Kyle wasn't gay.

He knew that it _seemed _liked it. But he wasn't.

He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, tracing the bumps with his eyes. He was expelled for a week for "bullying."

Bullying Cartman for being fat. Oh, Jesus.

Cartman being fat was one of the last reasons he disliked him. In fact, Kyle didn't really mind that much at all. He wasn't a weight-ist. He was sure there were many perfectly pleasant obese people out there. Fatass just didn't happen to be one of them.

And Kyle felt the same way about gay people. This is America, and just as people are free to stuff their faces with hot dogs, they're free to stuff their hot dogs in other people. He just wished that he could explain to people that he wasn't gay, that there was just something going on inside of him that was a little off… But he couldn't. He couldn't tell anyone, because how could he explain anything when he didn't even know himself?

He really wished that he could smoke. But his stash and Stan were far away – in the school parking lot, to be exact, and one of the perks of being expelled was that he didn't have to see that shithole that they call a school.

He didn't want to go to school, but he didn't want to stay in his room.

* * *

><p>After sneaking out the window, he walked around town, hands stuffed into his pockets, and he thought about life, and he thought about how unfair everything was, and he thought about David, whose profile he'd stalked, and who was, apparently, engaged to be married to a Christian woman, and he'd undergone some conversion or something. Kyle wondered about how his mother would react if he underwent a conversion. To something interesting. Maybe Satanism. She'd die. He chuckled at the thought.<p>

He wondered how she would react once she'd realized he'd snuck out of the house. She'd be mad. She'd ground him. She'd probably even consider sending him to a military camp or something. But she wouldn't do it. Kyle felt like she hadn't yet hit her breaking point.

He wondered what her breaking point was. Was it telling her he was gay?

"But gay people are supposed to know, right?" Kyle sat down on the curb and felt the snow melt into his jeans. "Like, if I were fag, I'd know, right? It'd be pretty obvious."

Kyle didn't know if he was supposed to know. He didn't know anything. He didn't know if all gay guys had similar existential crises, or if all straight guys wondered about this kind of stuff, and Jesus, this is when he really wished he was brave enough to talk to Stan.

And that's when he saw the hooker, standing on the corner of the street, smoking a cigarette, wearing a bikini top that barely held in her tits.


	7. Butters Has Three Lines

It was Craig who found Kyle crying in the 3rd floor bathroom. In a very manly fashion, of course.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"Dude, _nothing_," Kyle said, sniffling. "It's nothing." He grabbed some paper towels and wiped at his face. He tried not to look at his reflection; he looked like shit.

"Dude, you look like shit."

"I _know_, Craig, all right!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's fucking wrong! Why can't you mind your fucking business?" Kyle shouted.

Craig looked at him for a moment. He flipped him off and left the restroom.

* * *

><p>"What can I get for you today, Kyle?" Red asked as she went through her purse.<p>

"I dunno; whatever's cheapest? I'm low on money this month." Kyle bounced from foot to foot. Red frowned at him.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?" Kyle said quickly.

"You're acting a bit odd."

"Jesus, can't a guy get a little pot around here?"

Red scowled then. "All right, dickhead, how much do you have?"

"Twenty."

"Here," she said. "Take this." She thrust a tiny green-tinted packet at him.

"This can't last me a month! What is this? A tenth of a gram?"

"I'm being fucking generous for twenty dollars, all right?" Red barked. She grabbed the money from Kyle and slammed her locker shut before storming off to fifth period.

* * *

><p>Butters came up to Kyle after Physics.<p>

"Jeez, Kyle, you're not looking so good."

"Why is everyone saying that?" Kyle grunted between clenched teeth.

"Well, golly, Kyle, maybe it's 'cause you're being irritable, and you're all sweaty."

"You'd be irritable, too, Butters, if you couldn't piss and your balls were threating to fall off."

Butters blinked a couple of times, and then nodded. "I suppose you're right, Kyle; I'd be mighty irritable if my- if my balls were threatenin' to fall off."

"Yeah. Exactly."

Kyle walked home.


	8. It's Very Easy to Order Illegal Rockets

"Dude," Kenny said Saturday. They were at the park, playing basketball. Cartman hadn't been around for a while; he had been milking his broken nose for all it was worth and still hadn't come to school. Kyle felt a little nervous about that, but pushed it out of his head. Stan had said that Kenny had told him that he had gone to Cartman's house, and, to quote, "The piece of shit was just sitting on the couch, stuffing his face with ice cream." He was a wearing a brace on his nose, and he did look "fucking stupid," but, as far as Ken could tell, he was perfectly fine.

So, Kyle concluded, Cartman wasn't actively planning his demise, and that was good, and besides, the bastard hadn't managed to kill him yet, so he probably shouldn't worry too much.

"Yeah, man, what's up?" Kyle asked. He looked over at Stan, who was trying to beat his lay-up record, like he might actually hear them or something.

Kyle had managed to avoid talking to Kenny much at all since The Incident – and it's not like they ever really talked, anyway – and he had kind of hoped he'd never have to talk to him again.

"I don't know, man, why don't you tell me?" Kenny asked, and Kyle finally met his eyes.

"Excuse me?" His palms grew sweaty and disgusting.

"Dude," Kenny lowered his voice, "what the fuck have you got?"

"I haven't got anything!" Kyle said quickly. "What, do you mean, like, some money or something?"

Kenny raised an eyebrow at him.

Kyle tried to look innocent.

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Look, asshole, just come over to my house later."

Kyle was about to ask what for, but then Stan come running over. "Fuck! I was twenty short of beating my record. Do you think I could ever make it to three hundred?"

* * *

><p>The next day, Kyle found himself at Kenny's house. He knocked on the door, wondering what the fuck he was even doing there as he shifted awkwardly from leg to leg.<p>

"Stuart, answer the door!"

"I answered it last time, bitch!"

Kyle began to back away slowly, but then the door flung open. It was Kenny's Mother, and she looked a bit frazzled, but she smiled when she saw him.

"Oh, hello, Kyle."

"Hello, Mrs. McCormick. Um, is Kenny here?"

"He's out back playing with his fireworks. You wanna see him?"

She led the way to the back door, and Kyle followed her, careful not to step on the many pizza boxes and beer cans that littered the floor.

"You thirsty? We don't have any clean cups," Kenny's Mother motioned to the kitchen, "but if you wanna stick your head under the faucet, you could get some water that way."

"Um, really, I'm fine. Thank you, though."

Kenny was in the backyard just like his mother had said, but "the fireworks" he was playing with was actually just a large rocket that Kyle was fairly certain was illegal in the United States. Kenny was standing over it, smoking a cigarette, and Kyle wondered if that was the stupidest thing Kenny had ever done. He decided it probably wasn't.

"Hey, Kenny," he said as he approached him.

"Here, take this," Kenny said, holding the cigarette out to him. Kyle wrinkled his nose.

"I'd rather not."

"I'm trying to figure out how to send this damn thing off without exploding anything," Kenny explained, dropping the cig to the ground and grinding it with his shoe.

"Then what's the point of having a rocket?" Kyle asked.

Kenny ignored him and dropped to his knees. He grabbed the rocket between his legs and tilted it upward. "You're good with angles and shit, right? Will it hit Tom's if I let it go like this?"

"Look, dude, I don't know, all right?" Kyle was annoyed. "Dude, just take it to the pond or something."

Kyle and Kenny had never been particularly close. Kyle couldn't remember a time they had ever hung out on their own, but they definitely weren't enemies or anything. Kenny had started talking to him all the more recently because he was anxious not to be held back a year. He told Kyle that if he wasn't in the same grade as them, he'd never come to school, and then he'd never graduate. He told Kyle that he wanted to graduate high school because he wanted to make something of himself, unlike his deadbeat father. Kyle then asked Kenny about college. Kenny laughed, and said, "College is for fucktards."

Kenny seemed pretty into the rocket. Kyle groaned. "Look, is there a reason you called me over here or something? Because seriously, dude, it's not like I have all fucking day."

Kenny chuckled, but didn't turn to him. "Where you gotta be?"

Kyle flushed. He didn't really have plans, but that was beside the point. "Why?" he spat. "So you can just invite yourself along, dickmunch?"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point." Kenny stood and reached into his pocket. He furrowed his brow as he looked for something. "Hold out your hand."

"Why the fuck should I?" Kyle said, but then he did anyway.

Kenny dropped several small, pink pills into his outstretched hand. Kyle tried not to look at the visible layers of dirt on Kenny's fingers and the black gunk under his nails.

"What's this shit?"

"Ecstasy."

"For fuck's sake, Kenny."

"It's black market antibiotics. Take two today and then one a day 'til they're gone."

Of all the things Kyle expected, it certainly wasn't that. "Dude, you're seriously giving me medicine?"

"I'm pretty sure it's medicine," Kenny said. "It could be poison. But I probably didn't get them mixed up this time."

"Thanks, man," Kyle said, staring at the pills with wonder and a little bit of something else.

"What?" Kenny asked.

"It's just … how long have they been in your pocket?"

"Why? You think they might have lint on 'em or some shit?"

"No, no … It's just … I mean … And your _hands_ …" The thought of putting the pills in his mouth now made Kyle a little nauseous.

Kenny coughed. "Jeez, Kyle, you're a fucking control freak. No wonder you like watching men get fucked."

Or, at least, that's what Kyle thought Kenny said, but by that point Kenny was back on the ground, messing around with that damn rocket.


	9. Cartman Makes a Deux

Kyle didn't know what to think when he walked in the kitchen Tuesday morning and saw his mother and Cartman engaged in something resembling a conversation.

The first thing he noticed was that Cartman wasn't wearing a nose brace, just some white medical tape.

The second thing he noticed was that Cartman's plate was loaded with eggs - eggs that were, presumably, for him.

The third thing he noticed was that his mother was smiling, and then that her face fell when she saw him.

"Oh, hello, Kyle," she said, in that flat tone she had been subjecting him to for days.

"Hey, Mom. Hey, Cartman," Kyle said, murdering the fatass with his eyes.

Cartman just smirked as he drowned his eggs in hot sauce. "Why, hello Kahl."

"Eric and I were just having a very interesting conversation," Kyle's Mother said.

"Yes, it was s_o very _interesting," Cartman said, in that _fucking _falsely sweet voice, and Jesus, Kyle just really wanted to punch him.

"Eric's starting a club, aren't you?" Kyle's Mother said.

"A society, really," Cartman corrected her. "A society celebrating the beauty of the human body in all its forms."

Kyle wanted to puke. His mother smiled even wider.

"It's a great idea. I mean, with the media throwing so many false images with fake beauty at us, it's easy to get bogged down in the superficial!"

"So, so easy," Cartman said. "Oh, and thanks for the breakfast, Mrs. Broflovski."

"No problem, sweetheart," Kyle's Mother said. "Now, I have to go to the library for my volunteer work. Kyle, make sure you get Ike to school."

"Sure, Mom," Kyle said, and he watched his mother grab her purse and walk out of the kitchen. Kyle waited for the front door to slam before turning on Cartman.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Cartman."

Cartman dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "I wanted to discuss my plans with your mother before I went to school."

"Why." Kyle's nostrils were flared.

"Gee, Kyle, you're _awfully_ tense," Cartman said, sliding out of his chair. "Haven't gotten stoned today, I guess?"

"Look, Fatass, you can play your stupid fucking mindgames all you want, but they're super fucking old at this point."

Cartman crossed the length of the room very quickly for his size, and stood very close to Kyle. Kyle realized that they were the same height.

"Look," Cartman said slowly. "I'm not trying to play a so-called 'mindgame.' Your mother's interested in my cause, like I knew she would be, and I need someone willing to fund it."

"What the fuck is this cause? I don't know what scheme you're pulling, but can you just leave and let me get to making toast, since you fucking ate my eggs?" Kyle stepped away from Cartman and grabbed the loaf of bread out of the cupboard.

"You don't agree with your mother, then, that fat stigma in this society has gone too far?" Cartman asked innocently. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Look, jackass, there's a big difference between chicks who aren't a size zero and _you_."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that fat chicks are curvy and fat guys are fat, and you are just a steaming piece of shit. That is what I mean." Kyle's toast popped out of the toaster, and he leaned over to grab it. He took his plate to the fridge and grabbed a stick of butter. He thought that Cartman had left, given the lack of Jew insults being hurled at him, so he was almost surprised when he heard Cartman's soft chuckle.

"Have you been paying a lot of attention to women's bodies, Kahl?"

Kyle dropped his plate. It shattered on the floor.

"Fuck!"

"You are so fucking clumsy," Cartman said as Kyle got the broom and went about cleaning things up.

"Don't help me; I've got it," Kyle muttered. As he swept, he tried to get his pounding heart under control, and he took a few deep breaths. "So," he started in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice. "What were we talking about?"

"What kind of chicks you like, Kyle, since it seems you haven't had a girlfriend in a while," Cartman said easily.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cartman knows_, Kyle thought. _At least, he thinks he does. But without proof, he doesn't have shit._

"Having a girlfriend is fucking overrated. I mean, it's not like I wanna stay in this shithole town, and having a girlfriend in high school severely increases your chances of getting tied down way too fucking soon."

And that was true. Kyle liked girls well enough, but the thought of having to dedicate so much time to someone else ... It seemed like way too much work; he felt like he wasn't ready for it. Teenagers all across the nation would be much happier if they thought the way he did, probably.

"That _is _true," Cartman said thoughtfully. Kyle smirked at that. The fatass didn't have many options. Most chicks avoided him, as they very well should, so it's not like _he_ would be eloping with anyone soon. "What about Wendy?" Cartman continued.

"Testaburger?" Kyle asked. Wendy had moved away a few years ago, but she still emailed Kyle from time to time. "Nah, she's, I mean ... Wouldn't it be weird, dating someone so much like yourself?"

"Well, then, what about Bebe? She's about as opposite from you as they get," Cartman pointed out.

"Bebe's Stan's territory," Kyle said.

"Mmhm, hmm." Cartman was still looking at him suspiciously. Kyle blushed despite himself. It was time to end this.

"Look, Cartman, as much fun as this has been, isn't it about time you get going? In case you haven't noticed, my mom's long gone."

"Yeah, I probably should. Unless ... there's something you want from me?"

"What on earth could I possibly want from you?" Kyle asked, and the look on Fatass's face was far too worrying. He was frowning in that way, like he was thinking hard. Kyle didn't have a lot of respect for Cartman, but he wasn't the stupidest person in the world, so it was best to cut him off at the knees.

"I know what you think you know, Fatass, but at the end of the day, what do you _really_ know?"

To Kyle's surprise, Cartman nodded. "You're right, Kahl. What do I know? Nothing. I've got my suspicions, but I don't have any evidence. Unless ..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless ..." Cartman spread his arms apart and bowed his head, looking like some fat fucking martyr. "You ravish me right now."

It would be an understatement to say that Kyle was taken aback. In fact, he was so incapable of thought that he was convinced his brain had fallen out of his head.

"Excuse me?"

"Do it, Kahl. I know you fuckers are as perverse as it gets, and if letting you have your way with me means that I get proof of your sodomitistic ways, then so be it."

Kyle wanted to laugh, but he couldn't remember how. "Cartman," he said.

"Yes?" Cartman had his eyes squeezed shut, and he was grimacing.

"Get the fuck out of my house, Cartman."

Cartman very slowly opened his eyes. "You're not going to rape me?"

"Not today," Kyle replied drily.

"Figures you wouldn't have enough balls." Cartman turned on his heel and finally left. Kyle stood there, frozen for several moments, going over the last few seconds in his head. Cartman briefly returned.

"Are you going to come over later and play _Rough Riders 27.5_?"

Kyle didn't like Cartman, but he _was_ one of the few kids in town with that game.

"Okay."

"Coo'," Cartman said, before leaving for good.


	10. SIX INSTANCES THAT MADE STAN SUSPECT

**SIX INSTANCES THAT MADE STAN SUSPECT THAT KYLE WAS A FLAMER**

* * *

><p>There was that one time, in sixth grade, when everyone was playing spin the bottle, and Stan was excited to French kiss Wendy, but Kyle was more concerned about the math test coming up.<p>

* * *

><p>The summer before 10th grade, Stan and Kyle went to the pool, but once they got there, Kyle refused to come out of the bathroom. And, for some reason, Stan's gut didn't think it was the girls giving Kyle a boner.<p>

* * *

><p>There was that one time they had gone to the mall in North Park to flirt with girls, and Stan had noticed that the blonde had really large breasts, and Kyle had noticed that the brunette was a really good conversationalist.<p>

* * *

><p>There was that one time in ninth grade, when Stan had come over to Kyle's house without telling him, and Kyle made him promise he would tell him from then on.<p>

* * *

><p>There was that other time in 9th grade, when Stan told Kyle about the Playboys he stole from his father and he thought they were the greatest thing since sliced bread, but Kyle wasn't nearly as interested as he pretended to be.<p>

* * *

><p>There was that summer before 9th grade, when every single letter Kyle wrote him was filled with descriptions of how funny David was, and how smart David was, and how much time Kyle loved spending with him, and how completely fucking gay he was.<p>

* * *

><p>Stan had to be wrong. He didn't want to ask, because that would be admitting to Kyle that he thought he was capable of keeping something like this from him. And of course he wasn't!<p>

Stan had to be wrong about Kyle because if Kyle really felt that way, he would talk to him about it, because he was his best friend.


End file.
